Charlie's Angels

When we got off the plane, I realize I feel a bit like one of Charlie's Angels: 3 young American babes with some unseen benefactor. I later find out his name is Thorsten, and he provided us with not only an apartment, but also a chauffeur to get from point A to B: Schoenfeld Airport to mein straβe.



Bleary eyed [well pink-eyed in my case-yes I got a minor case of conjunctivitus AGAIN the morning before my flight] on the morning of August 27 or 28th (with time changes and overnight flights who knows what day it actually is at the time?), we arrive past customs like the bumbling idiots we are, no idea of the language, to a tall thin man named Carsten. He holds a sign in big, typed bold letters in a plastic envelope – BIANCA. We eventually get into his blue, pristine Volkswagen van. Oh how I missed broken english - what I call doublespeak... synonym after synonym.

Carsten’s phone rings.

“Oh dis ist Thorsten.” He presses accept and there is Thorsten’s voice blaring through the vehicle.

“Hello girls!!!"

"HI THORSTENNN!" (we sound like cheerleaders)

BLa bla bla, we sucked up a bit... "well, you are very special,” he says. Jess and I burst out laughing.

In fact we are Thorsten's Angels.

Pictures, really don't do it justice:

(did I mention we have a tub that can fit a few? ...ballers)

ummm yeah this is our courtyard